War Buddies
by Alex Foster
Summary: After the Twilight war and the losses suffered during it, Spike finds he has something in common with one of Buffy’s slayers. AU, Future Fic


Title: War Buddies

Author: Alex Foster

Category: General

Rating: PG

Summary: After the Twilight war and the losses suffered during it, Spike finds he has something in common with one of Buffy's slayers. AU, Future Fic

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Mutant Enemy, Dark Horse, and Joss Whedon. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: This drabble was born out of a joke a friend made about some of the special people in Buffy's life needing to just sit down over a drink and compare notes one day. This is wildly AU, has slashy undertones, is set after the season eight comic series, and makes reference to character death. Don't say you weren't warned.

* * *

A relationship is like a rose,

How long it lasts, no one knows;

Love can erase an awful past,

Love can be yours, you'll see at last;

To feel that love, it makes you sigh,

To have it leave, you'd rather die;

You hope you've found that special rose,

'Cause you love and care for the one you chose."

_-Rob Cella_

* * *

The bottle hit the table in front of Spike with a solid thud. He paused, whiskey glass halfway to his mouth, and glanced up at the owner of the hand still gripping the bottleneck. She was short and clad entirely in leather that set well against her coffee colored skin. A dusting of gray had just started to appear in her cropped dark hair. Wiry and tone, an aura of power crackled around her.

A quick sniff of her scent confirmed what he already saw in her eyes. "A _slayer_," he slurred. "You lot just don't know when to stay gone, do ya?"

The woman pulled out the chair across from him, flipped it around, and straddled it. "Not as many as there once was," she agreed, "but still enough around."

Spike snorted and downed his whiskey. Around them the bar was mostly empty despite the time of night. Not much business in general for places like this these days. After the war the floor had pretty much fallen out of the demon bar market. "If you are here to get information," he said. "I don't know any. I've been out of the game for decades. Ever since…she…well since it all ended."

"Yeah," the Slayer said, "I know. I've thought about going out to pasture, too."

"Did you now?" Spike ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting the afterglow of alcohol. "Didn't think you sort did that, retire I mean."

She shrugged. "Didn't think champions retired either."

He laughed. "Haven't been called that in a long time, love. Not since I got back from hell anyway. The bad one, not the fun one."

The Slayer opened the bottle between them and deftly poured a shot into his empty glass. Producing a jigger from a pocket of her vest, she fixed one for herself as well.

Spike cocked his head. "So why are you here?"

She smiled. "Well, it's not to buy you spicy chicken wings."

"What?"

"That's the standard practice when you share a drink with a slayer in a place like this, right?"

It took several moments for the right memory to surface. "How did you…?"

"Shared memories," the Slayer said. "It's not always exact, but I do remember that. With you."

"Really?" He twisted the glass around on the table. "See anything else in there that tickles your fancy?"

"No," she said bluntly. "Not really my thing."

"That's a shame." Old feelings, long buried in the ground, stirred inside him. The Slayer was fetching enough and carried herself well. Confident and sure of her place in the world. "So, the reason then?"

She gestured to the bottle. "Just thought you and I could share a drink. It is the anniversary after all."

It was. Spike swallowed hard and tried to fake surprise. Of course it was the anniversary of that day. For some people it was a day of greatness. The day the war ended and a new and better place emerged. Find yourself a girl to kiss, sailor, 'cause there's no more fighting. For him it was the day they lost her…again and for the last time. It never got away from him, he never forgot, not even for a minute out of the years that had gone by.

"So you were one of hers, huh? Guess you made it out okay then."

"I was 'one of hers' yes." The Slayer's eyes clouded for a moment. "I was in her army and fought to the end."

"Bully for you." Spike didn't even have the anger left to put much bile into the words. "You hoping to start some sort of sodding club? The I-Fought-On-Her-Side Club? Sorry, pet, but she tried the membership and laminated cards routine on you lot. Didn't turn out so well for either side."

The Slayer didn't blink at his words. "You and I have much more in common than you think, Spike. More than the history books or even the Watcher's Council will ever know. No club or membership required. Just the two of us left in the world and a bottle of—if she remembered correctly—your favorite."

Spike caught her scent again. Searching it for emotions he might have missed the first time. "You," he said slowly as realization settled in. "You…were in love with—"

"I was," she put in. "I still am. As are you. I fought beside her and if I could have taken her spot in that last battle, I would have."

Spike glanced at the bottle on the table. He turned it and read the label like it mattered. All booze could take him home, only the speed at which he got there varied. "I've seen worse," he said and picked up the glass. "Cheers."

The Slayer followed his lead and immediately refilled the shots.

"So you were there in the end." Spike sloshed the amber liquid around in the glass. "What was it like?"

The Slayer smiled. "She was inspiring."

"Yeah." He laughed softly. "She was at that. So what do they call you?"

"My name is Satsu…"

**End**


End file.
